


Touch-Tone

by SandrC



Series: I Wish to Lodge a Complaint [7]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'm still fucked up y'all, Phone Calls & Telephones, The romance is so far background it's not getting paid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: Oh, I'm crying now, authentic tearsThey flow out of me when I think about you'Cause you're the only person in the world who'd understandPhone calls are made after the fact.





	1. Newton, Jane

**Author's Note:**

> Had a long thought about the remaining Pineguard calling their family after the fact. It hurt. I liked it a lot.
> 
> How much did Duck tell Jane? How much does he call her?
> 
> Does Aubrey ever talk to her dad? Would grief drive her to call him again?
> 
> I don't know. (That's a lie.)
> 
> Hope you like it though.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck calls his sister and comes clean.
> 
> (Duck calls his sister and lets loose.)

The first thing he did when he got the time was make a phone call.

"Hey, you there?"

She didn't answer. Not immediately. That was fine coz she was about seven hours behind him here in Kepler. She was tired. He didn't blame her.

"Look, uh, some shit went — I'm — _I don't_ — _fuck_!" His head hit the wall behind the corded phone on the wall of the _Cryptonomica_. "I just…"

" _Are you okay?_ "

 _God_. He had been doing _so well_. He had been compartmentalizing so _so_ well and now? _Now—?!_

A rough sob escaped him, scraping the raw insides of his choking throat. His eyes stung.

" _What happened?_ "

God. God fucking _shit_. What the fuck would he _even_ —? _How?!_ _How_ would he even—?

Was he _allowed_ to? What was allowed now, _after_ the fact?

Could he bring himself to say—?

"He — the funeral is tomorrow."

Fuck. Fuck _fucking_ fuck. _Shit_. Cock shit _fuck_.

" _Who?_ "

Her voice _cracked_. He'd _forgotten_ that she grew up here _too_. _She_ knew these people as much as _he_ did. _Fucking_ short-sighted _goddamn_ fuck _shit_ _asshole_!

"Ned."

He hadn't said his name since — since—

_Since—_

A hiccuping shuddery inhale rippled up through him. He sucked stuttering air through his teeth. Fucking god _dammit_.

" _ **Fuck**. Fucking **hell** , Duck. Are you gonna be okay?_"

Million dollar question, _ain't it_?! Fucking _million_ goddamn _dollar question_.

"I don't—? _Jane_." Her name was a plea. _Stop talking_. _Please_ don't ask. But she wouldn't; it wasn't in her nature. She was an investigative journalist, after all. She cared for him, for _so many_ people. She'd ask until she had her answer. "I could've _done_ something! First it was _Danimal_ and then it's _Dewey_ and this guy, _Boyd_ , and _some of the Hornets_ and then it's — it's _Ned_ and I couldn't do a _goddamn_ thing because _I wasn't there_ but I _should_ have been! I could've _saved_ him. I _could've_ saved him…"

The silence on the other end speaks volumes. Jane was tenacious, loquacious, voracious. Now she was quiet, weighing her options and answers. Duck could hear her think, hear her put together pieces, hear her consider her path upwards and outwards.

" _...tell me **everything**. **No bullshit** , Duck. I wanna know what the **fuck** is going on in Kepler and I wanna know what the **fuck** is going on with **you**._"

Fuck though, _not like this_. God, _fuck_ , he wants to hang up and _run_.

She wouldn't let him get away with it though.

Fucking Jane could wring the truth from a rock if given the time. Always _could_. Always _will_.

"D'you remember when I would wake up screaming? When I would talk to someone who wasn't there? When shit started getting bad at school and home and so on?" Silence. Confirmation. "There was a _wormhole_ in the back of my head. Linked me to an alien woman on an alien world. Gave me prophetic dreams of shit that would happen. _Bad_ fucking shit. And _me_? I was _Chosen_."

A soft sigh. Pity? Hard to tell.

"I got this whipsword thing when I was nineteen. Name of Beacon; a _right_ smartass but he's saved me too many times to count. I didn't _want_ it though, Jane. I wanted to _run_ and _be free_ coz there was _so_ much fucking _soup_ I hadn't eaten, so much I _hadn't done_ and I was _a kid_ and I was _scared_ and Minnie, _Minerva_ , this alien woman who had been trying to get me to be something more, was saying I was _special_ and _Chosen_ and born to be something _great_." He hiccupped, inhaled, skipped like a broken record. "I stopped talking to her. _Minnie_. I jammed Beacon into my underwear drawer and ignored _him_ too. Became a ranger. Lived my life."

" _Duck…_ "

 _No_ , don't interrupt. Not _now_. _Not now._

"Ned took Beacon off my hands one night during a bender. Didn't need him, _did I?_ And _then_ — fucking eight months ago, there was this _bear_. Only it _wasn't_ a bear."

Did she believe him? Did she think he was crazy? Fuck. _Fuck. **Fuck.**_

"Ned helped kill it. Ned and this gal, Aubrey. God fucking _shit_ , Janey, you'd fucking _love_ her. She's a magician. Big rabbit she loves to death. But she can do _real-ass magic_. Heal and set fire to things and wind and ice. _So much_. She can do _real_ magic."

It was _so_ hard. _So so hard_. He _had_ to.

"I had a wormhole in my head that made me special and a sword that talked like some kind of sadist. Aubrey can do magic with her fucking mind. Ned was _just a guy_ and—"

_Fuck._

"There's a Gate in Kepler. Minnie's world ain't the only one out there. The one that's linked to ours is called Sylvain and it is _dying_ because of humans coming through and _ripping_ apart their source of life. And the not-bear, the monster made of water, the fucking tree — they kept trying to break through and fuck up this tenuous balance that's been kept for _fuck_ knows how long."

She didn't speak but he heard her shifting sideways in bed. He heard her grab a pen and paper. He heard her exhale and start writing in her janky shorthand she used for notes.

"Every full moon something tried to get through. Something that wasn't human or Sylph. _Abominations_. Every full moon the three of us—Ned. Aubrey, and me—would fight them back so no one would be hurt And this one — _this one_ was a shape changer." Raw. Rubbed raw. "Ned got shot saving Dani. You'd call her a _vampire_ but she's a Sylph and this thing had been _starving_ her until she lost herself and Ned _didn't_ — he didn't want _her_ to be hurt—"

 _He_ hadn't been there. He'd been fighting alongside Minerva when it'd happened. He _could've_ saved him if he'd _just fucking been there._

But he _wasn't_.

"Pigeon, Vicki's gal? Pigeon got spooked and shot him. He was _cold_ when I got back." It _hurt_. It hurt _so bad_ to dredge this back up, even _so soon_ after. He wasn't sure it'd _ever_ stop hurting. "I was helping Minnie and killing the Abomination proper, being some big-shot hero, when Ned... _died_ …"

He _couldn't_ any more.

He started _sobbing_ —not like he _hadn't_ been crying so far, coz he had been quietly weeping—and had to pull the phone away from his face for a moment.

No one else was here, inside the _'Nomica_. He was alone. Him and his sister.

" _ **Oh** , Duck_."

 _Please_ don't pity me. Please _please_ don't pity me.

" _You think you can host me on the couch?_ "

No _no no **no no.**_

"Prolly…"

" _I'm gonna get a fast track to you. I'm gonna come to Kepler and I'm gonna fucking **hold you tight** , okay?_" Sweet fucking Jane. Goddamn she was always the better of the two of them. " _And you and I will talk, **just** like old times, and have fucking **pizza** and shit, okay? And you can cry and I'll **be there**_."

He didn't fucking _deserve_ her. Fucking shit goddamn _hell_. She was _too good_ for _any_ of them.

" _I'll shoot you a message when I'm out, **okay**? Should be **about** a day, but **we'll see**. Just, **chin up** , alright?_"

"... _yeah_ …"

" _And **Duck**?_"

" _Hm?_ "

" _It's **not** your fault_."

It _sure_ didn't fucking _feel_ that way.


	2. Little, Trevor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey calls her dad and tells him the truth.
> 
> (Aubrey calls her dad and lies by omission and technicality.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was longer but, as expected, just as sad.
> 
> Exercising the headcanon that Aubrey and her dad haven't talked since her mom's funeral.
> 
> Family is hard, isn't it?

It took courage to reenter the _Cryptonomica_. Courage and fucking _guts_.

How _dare_ she stand where _he_ stood? How _dare_ she come back after _what she did_?!

But she couldn't be at _Amnesty Lodge_ right now. Too many people. Too much _noise_. She was alone in her head, fighting to keep her emotions at bay. She had to perform for them.

_Ladies, gentlemen, and those who are neither or both! Today the Lady Flame will amaze and astound you with her most daring and bold maneuver of all: **pretending that everything is all right!**_

It wouldn't work. She was too exhausted to pretend to smile. The mask was slipping.

She just needed to be Aubrey Little for a while.

But courage notwithstanding, she needed to make a call and this was the only other phone she had access to, aside from the one at _Amnesty_. So she dialed, listening to the tone, and softly apologized the _'Nomica_ for the small burns on the wall.

_Even now_ she couldn't get her magic to do what she wanted.

Useless _useless **useless**._

" _Trevor Little, how can I help you?_ "

Her throat closed off.

_Fucking hell_ , she hadn't talked to her dad in _years_. _Sure_ , she sent emails and postcards and little reminders that she was alive—and _fuck_ , the guilt about that alone was enough to strip flesh from bones—but a _call_? Face-to-face? Not a snowball's chance in Hell. Something about his face, the way that his pupils _still_ didn't dilate right, the fact that him and mom looked so in love when she last saw them, take your pick. She couldn't bear to hear him talk, let alone see him.

But _now_ —

_Again_ she had—

" _Hello?_ " He asked again, testing the line. She could imagine the way his face furrowed, brows pinching as the corner of his mouth pulled down to express disapproval. Crossed arms, the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder.

She choked out, " _Dad_?"

Exhalation. Relief? Pain? Confusion?

Did she even know how to read him any more? Or was that a skill that faded with the seven or so years of separation and radio silence?

" ** _Aubrey?_** "

_Fuck_. Fucking _hell_.

She hadn't expected it to feel like this. Hearing him again. She hadn't expected to feel so... _empty_.

She hoped that hearing his voice would make her feel safe.

She felt... _nothing_.

No anger. No frustration. No sadness.

No warmth. No safety. No relief.

Just... _nothing_.

And the nothing was so _goddamn_ familiar that her mouth started to water, the precursor to sour bile.

" _ **Aubrey**? Is that you? Honey, **please** don't hang up_."

_Yeah_ , don't hang up. Don't leave. _Don't go._

She swallowed and opened her mouth. Chapped lips pulled at each other, a web of spit lacing the back of her teeth. "I'm still here, dad."

" _H-how are you? It's been…_ " forever, _too_ long, a _nightmare_ , you _left_ me, you _ran_ after she died, _never looked back_ , abandoned _everything_ that reminded you of her, " _...a while._ "

" _That's_ an understatement." It's easy to lie with flippancy. It's easy to lie through humor. She can perform, pretend, be Aubrey Little. She can do this for _him_.

" _Yeah…_ " You could cut the tension with a knife. It choked her.

"I _just_ — I'm in West Virginia right now, actually." Small steps. _Small_ truths.

" _ **Really**? What's the weather like in Mothman country?_"

_Fuck_.

She doesn't have time to stifle the laugh that bubbles up and out. She wonders if Indrid knows people call it that. He probably does. He probably _hates it_.

That'd be fair, all things considered.

" _Cold_. I learned how to ski. Made some friends." Truth. Truth. Truth. "How's it back home?"

" _Same as always_." The formality cuts more than anything else. She _expected_ talking to her dad to be hard but—

It's like talking to a stranger or someone offering up a gig. Less like family — like Duck or Barclay or Mama or Dani or Jake or fucking _Ned_ — and more like Penn over at the bank or Sheriff Zeke or Agent Stern. Distant. Careful.

" _You made friends up there? How long have you been in state?_ " _Always pegged you for a wanderer,_ he didn't say. She could read it in the words between his words. _Didn't expect you'd ever stop running_ , he didn't accuse.

"Yeah, I did. It's been like... _eight_ months, about. Came up around July and haven't left since. Kepler's nice, dad. I think you'd like it here." Truth. Truth. Truth. He _loved_ the small-town aesthetic that Mama's family home never afforded. Used to joke that he was more raised by the apartment complex than his actual parents but…

" _One town? Someone **special** then?_" _An anchor to keep you from leaving?_

" _Yeah_...her name is Dani. She a gardener and artist." Truth. Truth. Lie by omission. Dani hadn't left her room all week. Felt guilty after Barclay wrestled her into the springs and she came to. Kept crying. Wouldn't look anyone in the eyes. Aubrey had to pick her lock to even get a conversation in, and even that was stilted and angry.

" _Sounds **lovely**._" _I'd love to meet her._

Silence ensued. Dark, empty. It mirrored the hole inside of her chest. The longing she wanted for comfort.

" _What brought on this call?_ " _You didn't want to talk before. What changed?_

" _I_ —" The big picture. The hard truth. The choice. "I — _daddy_ …" Her words caught on the edges of the hole in her chest. _Again_ , she found her thoughts burning against the fear of hate and rejection and not again, _never_ again, _god_ , fucking _not again_. "Do you remember that night?"

Dig in. Dig up.

_Every time you looked at me and didn't say anything, you were lying to me._

His breathing caught too. _Good_ , the sadist in her, the part that sung with pain, sneered. _Join me. Feel bad. I don't want to be alone like this._

" _I... **yeah**_." Heavy is the head, the breath, the shoulders. His words are boulders dropping into a lake. She feels like the catapult launching them back. " _ **Every year** I think about it. What I could have done **better**. How I could've **protected** you — protected you **both**_."

"I met one of the men that was there that night." Truth. _Met_ was an understatement, but _truth_. "One of the thieves."

_I'm not a robber._

She'd honor that distinction.

" _Did you—?_ "

" _Daddy_ ," the word was bladed to draw his attention. It worked, cutting off his question midway. "I met him. Lived in the same town as him for a _long_ time before I knew but — I _met_ him. He _was_ —" It hurt. It would always hurt.

She had thought it hurt before, when she _thought_ it was her fault. This time, she _knew_ it was her fault.

"His name was Edmund Kelly Chicane and he was a _goddamn fool_."

Could he hear the familiarity? Could he hear the _pain_? Did he know that it wasn't that she met one of the men that inadvertently killed her mother, but that she had _known_ him and _lost_ him?

"He ran this little tourist trap, a cryptozoology 'museum' here in Kepler. Honest money as far as I could tell. At least, as honest as a tourist trap gets."

_Keep going_. Truth. Tell the _fucking_ truth.

" _How did he—?_ "

" _Apparently_ , that night he dragged you and me out of the house. _Saved us_. Then his partner crashed the car and he left him to take the fall. Found Kepler and lived here ever since." Truth. Truth. Speculation. Ned never confirmed what happened to his partner, to Boyd Mosche, save that he went to jail and just got out. "And I didn't know when I met him, nor did he, but we found each other here. Fell in the same crowd."

" _Aubrey_ ," he started. She could hear the millions of ways this could go. _Aubrey, did you **do** something? Aubrey, did you get in trouble? Aubrey, are you okay? Aubrey, **why**?_

Was this what it was like for Indrid? Having the futures laid bare before him? Unable to parse the most likely situation until it happened?

It _sucked_.

"Before you say anything dad, I _didn't_. I don't fucking steal shit, nor would I fall in with mob types. You should know better." Ask forgiveness instead of permission. Cut him off at the pass. _Keep going_. "We — we were part of a group. A _club_ of sorts. And _he_ — I got mom's necklace back."

_There_. She could hear his heart break. She could hear him relax. Not yet. _Not yet._

"He got shot. Hunting accident." Truth. Lie by a technicality. "The funeral is soon and, _dad_?" She could feel it rise again. The panic. The fear. The ugly black bile of _all your fucking fault_. It had buried itself under the anger of _listen to me and don't interrupt_. It had hidden in the veneer of _let me catch you up_. But it was there, visible, ugly. Her mouth watered again. Sweet spit to precede sour vomit. "It was _my fault_ dad. For _real_ this time."

" _ **Aubrey**_." How can someone make a word sound so much like a plea and an apology at the same time? How can someone say a name with reverence and love like that?

How could he love her when her hands are bloodied like this?

" _It's not—_ "

"It _is_ though!" Red. Iron and copper. Sweet and heavy. She could smell smoke. Control. _Control_. "I found out, dad, and I confronted him. Told him I _hated_ him for keeping it from me. That I hated _him_. That he was a fucking _thief_ and a _liar_ and I _never_ wanted to see him _again_. That he should run just like he did that night and that he would have to live with the guilt _forever and ever._ " They were coming fast now; a waterfall of words tumbled rough on her teeth.

She can hear him want to stop her. Want to tell her it's okay. Want to comfort her. She cuts him off at the pass. _Not today motherfucker._ Not _now_ , when she has the courage to say the truth. When she doesn't have the _control_ to stop it from coming out.

"I told him I hated him and he _died_ trying to save someone. He _took a bullet_ for her, for _Dani_. He _saved_ her and the _last_ thing I said to him — the _last_ — _daddy_ , I —!" Hiccuping. Gasping. She stuttered, stammered, sputtered. "— _I_ —"

Her vision swam. She was drowning, suffocating, burning. Was the smoke in her nose from the rampant magic beneath her skin or was it a memory? She couldn't — _couldn't_ — her breath — her chest—

" _ **Aubrey Little,** you listen to me and you listen good!_" His voice, a knife through the haze, snapped like a whip. " _Your last words to this... **Ned** , they don't make this **your** fault_."

They _do_. She told him to leave and he felt like he shouldn't out of obligation, guilt, penance.

" _ **He** decided to stay, to save Dani. **He** decided to do what he did, **not you**_."

He _knew_. He knew she meant _so_ much to her. He knew she was _precious_ and wanted her to be safe. He took that blow because he _knew_ she _loved_ her.

" _It's not like you could've undone what happened. You couldn't've known he would do that._ "

She _did_ , though. Ned had saved her and Duck time and time again. The pool, the springs, _H2Whoa_!, _Leo's_ , the morgue. He never stopped taking blows he shouldn't. Blows she or Duck could've shrugged off. She just blinded herself to the possibility that one day he wouldn't get back up.

" _You didn't fire the gun_ —" that was Pigeon, who didn't stop shaking until she was unconscious in bed, eyes wide and filled with tears "— _you didn't put him in that position_ —" that was the Hornets, the town, and the _fucking_ Abomination, gathered at the Gate when they shouldn't've been there in the first fucking place "— _and you couldn't've saved him if it was a hunting rifle_ —" a fucking _lie_. She had _magic_. She could've done _so_ much more but it _wouldn't listen_. Her magic _abandoned_ her when she needed it. " _This **isn't your fault** , Aubrey. Don't you **dare** place that blame on your shoulders._"

It was too late though. The blame was there.

Pigeon was _scared_. She was scared and had a gun. She _didn't know_. She thought she was _helping_. Not her fault.

The Hornets and the town were reacting. They didn't have the full picture and, _sure_ , she _tried_ , but she could've stayed and convinced them instead of running to Sylvain. Not theirs either.

The Abomination was a creature. Manipulative and wild, sure, but acting on some instinct none of them understood. Whether it was the Quell that hammered at the barrier around Sylvain proper or the Corruption that spoke through Thacker or some third thing, the Abomination was moving as it was instructed. And you couldn't blame a bear for mauling a human who got too close. Even if you really, _really_ wanted to.

Her magic was _hers_ though. Her magic was _her_. _She_ was at fault.

_All_ her fucking fault.

She didn't even notice she had been crying until the ringing in her ears cleared enough for her to hear her jagged, staggered sobbing. She didn't even notice the flames around her hands had changed, ice creeping across the scorched wall, until the burning cold shocked her nerves.

She gasped. "I _just_ —" Stop _._ Start over. "Does it get _any_ easier? Does it ever stop?!"

_Will I ever be able to forgive myself without forgetting?_

" ** _Baby_** ," his not-answer was enough. The honey warmth of his comfort wicked off her. " _Baby girl_."

She let herself cry a bit longer. Let herself sit, in the place where she last spoke to him, with her dad on the other line. It felt—

It felt _empty_.

" _Do you want me there? I can find a place—_ "

" _No_." Just because _this one_ was gone didn't mean _the others_ were. It didn't mean Sylvain was safe. It didn't mean the Gate was gone. _It didn't mean bunk._

She wouldn't put him in that position.

" _How can I reach you?_ " If you need me, I'm here. If you need me. _If you need me._

If. _If. **If.**_

"I'm staying at _Amnesty Lodge_. They've — they have a website with the number. Room 208. Kepler's in the National Radio Quiet Zone, after all, so my cell isn't allowed in a chunk of the area." _I don't get reception in Sylvain and, if I did, the roaming charges would be **awful**._ "If a guy named Barclay picks up, or some lady named Mama, then leave me a message, okay? I'll call you back when I can."

" _How much longer do you think you'll be in Kepler?_ " _Will you come home? Come back to me? **See** me?_

"I don't know, dad." _I can't abandon my duties. I owe him this much_. "A _while_ , probably. _Maybe_ forever."

" _Will you let me know when you want me to visit? I think I still have some of your old things_." _If you're gonna move in, let me see your home. Let me be **a part** **of** your home, even by proxy. Let me meet the place that makes you happy, that sakes your wanderlust._

" _Yeah_. I'll give you a ring." Panic still sat, pressing thin fingers through her ribs, digging spines into her lungs, keening for attention. She ignored it, put on her mask, pretended through the pain.

_Ladies, gentlemen, and those who are neither or both, the Lady Flame!_

_Look at her smile as her world burns to ash!_

Her body shook with stifled sobs. Her voice was thick with pain.

She smiled anyway.

" _I love you Aubrey. Don't you **ever** forget_."

" _I won't_. Love you too, dad."

" _Talk to you later._ " She hung up.

And she checked out, leaning against the wall.

And she cried, full and forceful.

Because it _was_ her fault. It was _it was **it was**_ **!**

And she'd _never_ forget, _that's_ for damn sure.

She owed him _that_ much, after all.


	3. Kirby, Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pigeon makes amends.
> 
> (Pigeon soldiers on.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter.
> 
> It ended happier than I expected it to. Not a resolution per se, but something. A resonance of feelings.
> 
> Hope it satisfies.

Her hands shook.

In her hands, smoking slightly, and he was red _red red **red—!**_

She hammered the numbers out. One by one, like each was a death-sentence. They screamed out _your fault_ with each individual tone. Ten times. _**All** your fault._

Dial-tone. White noise while she sank back into the mire of her brain. Simple static. Calming. _Fine_. It was _fine_.

_White and orange and blonde. Flying, a cape, wings. Arm outstretched, claws, fingers and teeth bared, **snarling**. And she, in panic, **jerked**. He, surprised, **jerked**. A wing spread out, **only one** , a bright **rust** —!_

" _What?_ "

She jolted, almost dropping the receiver.

Of course he wouldn't want anyone calling. _Especially_ not from _Amnesty_ but—

She _couldn't_ do this to his face. She wouldn't make it, even if he _did_ let her in or even _entertain_ her idiot fucking idea.

So she swallowed her anxieties and opened her mouth.

" _Fucking **talk** or **don't** , I don't have time for this. I've got a business to run so if you're just gonna fucking call and send me your **thoughts and prayers** you can **fuck off**. **Every** last one of you._"

"Let me _help_." It —  _fuck_! She hadn't _meant_ it to be so forceful but —

His dry laugh— _barely_ even a laugh—rattled through the tinny speaker. " _Oh **really**? Why?_"

" _I_ — I _put_ you here." _I did it. **I did it**._ "So it's _only_ right I help you out." Penance. Penitence. _Say your hail Marys_ , Pigeon, _and thank the Father._ I have sinned and must atone.

There's a moment where she thinks he didn't hear her. Then he inhales and it is dry as a desert as her dreamscapes as _his skin_ , cold and clammy, and the steel and wood in her grip with the iron bite of—

" _It **won't** help_."

This gave her pause.

" _The **guilt** , the **dreams** , the feeling like you could've done **something more** , that **somehow** this was **all** your fault, that you **deserve** to be punished? That won't go away because you're **sorry** and they **sure as shit** won't go away **just because** you're trying to help._" He laughed, once, precise. She could feel her hackles rise. " _You **can't** unfuck this spilt milk back in the bag, Pidge. No use trying if you're not sincere anyway, it'll only end in tears_."

"And trying to help is _bad_?!" Nerves buried under anger, she snapped at him. "Trying to _do good_ is bad?! Should I just get back to writing my cryptid shitrag? Peddle wares to tourists who don't know the proprietor of the business they're at _just_ passed away? Bury my head in the sand?! _At least I'm trying, Kirby!_ "

A shot. _Just_ one. _Only_ one. _Always_ one.

That's _all_ it takes. That's all it _took_.

He hissed back at her. " _I am **doing my best**. No doubt about that! But I am **also** aware that participating in the Pity Olympics won't help **anyone**! You think **you're** the only one who feels that way? Like they let him down?!_"

It wasn't a physical blow, but she staggered like it was. She _for fucking sure_ didn't! How _dare_ he assume she was so short sighted?!

" _God fucking knows **everyone** here could place Gold! I feel like I could've told them from the get-go, when **that thing** took his face and recorded that advert. I **knew** it wasn't him but I didn't know **why** and **I** **said nothing**! That's how history is **made** , Pidge, and **that's** how I fucking feel!_"

He hadn't known the _extent_ of things, though, _had_ he? He hadn't known the manipulation, the strings, the theory of it all! So _why_ would he—?

" _ **Duck** thinks he should've **been** there and feels bad he **wasn't**. Thinks his killing that **fucking** thing up by the Observatory with his alien mentor was just **playing hero**._"

_Duck?!_ Duck did more that day than _any_ of them could know! Minerva was useful, a _strong_ strategist and _powerful_ woman, and Duck was the reason she was here and the reason _Leo_ was still around! He did _so_ much for _so_ many folks!

" _Aubrey thinks **she** killed him. Not by action, but by **inaction**. She thinks she **wanted** him to die and her magic obliged_."

Aubrey would _never_! She screamed till she was hoarse, tried to quell the riot before heading in to the Gate, and had stopped the other side from taking the _literal_ peak of their _literal_ mountain! How was _that_ wanting him to die?! She was just stretched thin!

" _ **Mama** thinks if she'd cared more or not kept it so **damn** secret, the mob mentality **might** not have set in so bad and folks **might've** been more prepared. **Stern** thinks he made the tension worse by **being** there, setting off the whole rhythm of things. **Dani** thinks **she** did it by getting caught and trying to eat him_."

Mama was spinning too many plates though, with the lodge, the residents, the Gate, the Abominations, and her art! Stern was just doing his job, even if his job wasn't right at the time. Dani was _fucking kidnapped_?!

" _ **Hollis** wonders if they'd listened to Aubrey before, if that would've **prevented** it in the end. **Sheriff Owens** thinks he's **bad** at his job since **so many** folks died, even **if** Dewey didn't **stay** that way_." His voice was tense, jaw clenched. He was talking through his teeth.

Hollis and the Hornets were the _calmest_ part of the mob! Sheriff Owens had been the reason things cleared out as fast as they had. _Why_ would they _even_ —?

_Oh_. The Pity Olympics.

Makes fucking sense now.

Doesn't make her hafta _like_ it.

"I still want to _help_ ," she said through bared teeth. "Whether or not you _want_ me to."

Absolution. Absolution. _Let me feel better about it._

" ** _How?_** " His voice cracked. All the pain was squeezed out of him, tired, done with everything. " _How the **fuck** could you help? How could you make **this** any easier?! **You're** hurting too! Don't, **I dunno** , fucking neglect **yourself** to help **others**!_"

How indeed.

But —

It takes a village, don't it? _Don't it?_

So —

"Fucking _hire_ me, asshole. I'll work _your_ shift, you work _his_ , recover, learn the ropes, and the two of us can fix this shit. _Or_ ," she shrugged, swallowed, smiled even if he couldn't see her, "at least cope?"

He laughed. Or, _no_ , he exhaled once through his nose. It was laugh-adjacent, ain't it? " ** _Cope_**."

Fair. Fair _fair **fair**._

"Let the _town_ help you." The words felt fake but, they needed to be said. "Let _us_ help you. I don't think there's a _damn_ person in town who wouldn't want to keep the ' _Nomica_ afloat, but you gotta _let_ us, Kirby."

_Let **me** help you. Let me **repent**_. It's selfish and she _knows_ it but there's nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with being _selfish_. It ain't the Pity Olympics, after all.

She's _allowed_ to _want_ to feel better.

Even if it means using her 'helpfulness' as a front.

She's gonna do it.

He sniffled. " _Fine. **Sure**. Fuck it_." He sniffled again. Breathy. " _You start monday. Seven AM. If you're late you owe me an RC, aight?_ "

She laughed, soft, an exhale like he did before. " _Sure_. Glass bottle instead of the cans in the vending machine you hacked?"

" _Bring me a six pack of glass bottles and I'll let you **nap** on the job._"

" _Deal_."

It's _something_. Not great. Not perfect. There's a void. A blank. A hole where someone used to be. Where she _took him out, forcefully, with a goddamn gun._

She let the silence blanket them for a moment before adding in. "Hey, Kirby?"

" ** _Hm?_** "

"If you need anything—and I _mean_ it, fucking _anything_ —lemme know. Bean me upside the noggin with a brick that has a note attached to it, if you have to get my attention that way. I won't _hesitate_ , bitch."

He laughed. The meme got him. _Nice_.

" _ **Sure**. Will do_." A beat. " _Talk to you later?_ "

"Only if you wanna."

" ** _Solid_**."

It's not _fixed_. It won't _ever_ be 'fixed' but that's fine. That's _fine_.

It's gonna be _fine_.

One day.

_Eventually_.

(Even if it's not _now_. Even if it takes a _long_ while. Even if she'll _never_ be over it, one day it will _be okay._ )


End file.
